


The Bothy

by Residesatshamecentral



Series: I will show you fear in a handful of dust [2]
Category: SS-GB (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Awkwardness, Brooding, Espionage, Homoerotic quotations from 'The Great Gatsby', Implied Torture, Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Never say this fandom is uncultured, To realise they are not asleep, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Residesatshamecentral/pseuds/Residesatshamecentral
Summary: After a mission goes wrong the beaten-up boys seek shelter in a Bothy. Rated P for unresolved sexual pining.





	The Bothy

They fled to the sound of gunfire.

The road was dark. The rebels had driven them out to the country, glittering eyes on them all the way. Out here, there were few lights flanking the dark expanse of the highway. Archer staggered, Huth’s arm a dead weight around his neck, the standartenführer’s breathing a constant rasp beside him in the dark.

“There is a shack there, look” bit out Huth. He must have been in agony. The captors had broken his ribs, Archer was sure of it, and every movement surely sent a bolt of pain through him. The side of own his face felt swollen, but it had been Archer’s dubious luck to be considered less knowledgeable than Huth. Thus, he had been the audience, not the star.

They staggered off the road. The shack, if that is what it was, was located off-road. A solitary light just picked it out, tucked into the treeline. Would the rebels see it, wondered Archer? They had chosen the area for it’s seclusion. If they were in a hurry, if they did not know the area, the two of them might  _just_ avoid recapture. Neither of them could run for much longer.

It was a bothy. Archer paused to thank whatever laughing god controlled their fates as he lowered the gasping Huth onto a ragged blanket some traveler had left behind. he pulled the door to, bitterly noting the absence of any locks. There, in the dark, they waited for fate to take its course.

…

“What time is it now, Archer?”

A tiny light illuminated the face of his watch.

”Two in the morning, sir.”

“What time did we escape?”

“Midnight, sir.”

“Wait another hour.”

….

It was three-thirty by the time Huth was willing to let Archer light the candles he had found wrapped in a scrap of oilcloth in the corner. The altruistic soul who had founded this place had included matches and a first-aid kit, a fact to make Archer shake his head yet again at the way this universe was ordered. If there was an afterlife, he decided, he would make it his personal business to find whatever being ordered his fate and do the spiritual equivalent of decking the bastard for not being consistent.

“You look like shit” was the first thing Huth told him when the candles were lit. Archer secured two of them to the floor with their own wax and turned to look at his superior. He had been almost silent for hours, breathing stertorously and occasionally asking the time. Archer found his silence more worrying than anything. Now he could see the man was white with pain. Dark blood stood out on his cheek.

“It looks much worse than it is, sir” he said and got out the bandages from the first-aid kit.

Huth’s uniform was ruined, blacked with dirt and specked with blood. Under it, Huth was dark with fresh bruises. Archer bound the ribs as best he could, thanking god that at least his lungs did not seem to have been pierced. Huth remained almost silent, his jaw clenched, eyes flicking aimlessly around the stone interior of the shelter. Finally, he lay back, sighing. 

“Try and find some water to clean us both up” he said. “And try to rest. We will move on in the morning, by which time they will hopefully have fled, thinking we are back in Berlin.”

“Yes sir.”

“You did quite well, Archer.” His voice was faint. 

“I checked already. There are no water facilities here, sir.”

No answer. Huth was asleep.

Archer sat back, feeling the weariness in his bones, and watched his sleeping superior. Huth lay, head back, face slack. Unwatched, Archer allowed himself to look at Huth freely. He had never seem the man…vulnerable…before, even drunk and unhappy, he had always had a layer of armor. 

A line from some book crept into his mind as he watched Huth’s chest go up and down.  _‘He had a body capable of enormous leverage…a cruel body.’_  Huth’s body was hard with muscle, as though metal ran under the skin, as though his body had been made for the purpose of inflicting harm. Archer wondered, yet again, what forces had shaped Huth’s life. Even after all this time, the man was an enigma to him, in so many ways.

Looking back to his face, he found Huth’s eyes open, just a fraction. Cold grey glittered between the lowered eyelashes and Archer got the feeling, horribly familiar, that his every thought had been discerned.

“What time is it?” The voice was still soft.

He checked his watch. “Four, sir.” Had he really been sitting there for half an hour? Weariness must have drained him more than he thought.

“Keeping watch?” The ice-grey eyes had a glint to them that was new, that was oddly knowing. “It wont benefit either of us if you drop with exhaustion tomorrow. We have a long way to go.” He indicated the space beside him. “Go to sleep.”

“The blanket is all yours, sir.”

“Do as you are told, Archer.”

He turned his head to watch, as Archer shifted toward him, and he frowned. “When we get to Berlin, I want you to get checked over, too. I don’t like the look of that face, Archer.” Raising his hand carelessly, he touched a raw point with the tip of his finger, delicately, just beside Archer’s eye. Archer flinched. 

Huth dropped his hand. He turned his face to the ceiling and was silent. Archer blew out the candles.

There, in the dark, they said no more.


End file.
